XII.
In those delightful realms of perfect bliss,
The raptured spirit finds an endless home;
And is it well to break your hearts for this?
O, could to earth the sainted spirit come,
’Twould chide the mourner weeping o’er the tomb
As though the soul were chained in prison there!
’Twould bid him lay aside his look of gloom,
And in its place the smile of triumph wear;
’Twould bid him hush the sigh, and wipe the starting tear!